


The Lights Across The Street

by sweggscellent



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M, motel sex, thats a thing right. right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:38:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1748162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweggscellent/pseuds/sweggscellent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>admitting your jealousy is harder than it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lights Across The Street

**Author's Note:**

> plot??? me??? yes. just this once
> 
> i have a [tumblr](http://sweggscellent.tumblr.com)

The first thing Marco says to Jean after he gets home from work is, “Armin asked me out today.”

The forkful of Banquet Pot Pie Jean was about to put in his mouth freezes midair and he pulls his gaze from the television over to Marco, eyeing him warily.

There’s this stupidly giddy smile on Marco’s face and it tugs a bit at Jean’s heart, but he’s got no reason to be jealous. Not really. He reminds himself of that fact as he leans over to put his half-finished meal over on the side table; two months of platonic fucking. No strings attached. Strictly friends with benefits. That is it. They were best friends (still _are_ best friends, just with a little more sex on the side), and when it progressed from tentative touching to kissing to actual fucking, that’s as far as it got. No official title. Nothing beyond sex.  Jean forces a smile back onto his face before turning back to face Marco.

There’s already a knot in Jean’s throat, and he takes a few breaths, swallows a few times to choke it down. When he speaks, he has to keep his voice from cracking. “Armin’s that short blonde kid you work with at the bookstore, yeah?” Marco nods, that smile still on his face. “That’s great,” Jean breathes, trying to keep his tone light, but instead it comes out as indifferent.

Marco must pick up on the way Jean is guarding himself, because he flops down onto the couch with a sigh, his thigh brushing against his roommate’s.

Jean feels his spine tingle and it takes all his strength to keep from putting his hand on that thigh.

“It’s nothing,” Marco says. Jean can feel the way Marco is glancing at him from the corner of his eye instead of facing him full-on; it’s a defense mechanism, the method Marco uses to tread over glass. Jean sighs silently through his nose before breathing back in; Marco smells like dry book pages.

“It’s nothing,” Marco says again, leaning in to brush his nose gently against the corner of Jean’s jaw, and against all of the blonde’s better judgment, he tilts his head to the side and lets Marco press soft, warm kisses into his skin.

 _It’s okay if it’s something_ , Jean wants to say. Or anything, anything at all to reprove Marco, but instead he just hums and says softly, “Kissed him yet?”

Marco leans back so he can see Jean, and there’s a mischievous smirk on his face. “Jean, please,” he says, “I’m not that easy. We’re going slow.”

That’s all the reassurance Jean needs for now, he decides, as he smirks and indulgently lets Marco push him backwards onto the couch.

 

* * *

 

Jean is in the kitchen preparing dinner when Marco comes home from his date the following evening.

He’s humming to himself, focusing on the vegetable stir fry he’s twirling around in the pan when he hears the front door click softly shut.

“How’d it go?” Jean calls, feigning interest and pointedly not looking up from his food.

There is no immediate answer, and for a moment, Jean worries that it isn’t Marco who’s come in. He chances a glance up and finds Marco standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a chaste smile on his face and a blush on his cheeks. Jean snorts softly to himself before he notices the single yellow daffodil between Marco’s fingers.

“Good night I assume,” Jean says more than asks, and he cringes at the petulant tone in his voice. He turns back to the stove and turns the heat down, just to give his hands something to do.

“Yeah,” Marco says, his voice quiet and happy. He makes no mention of Jean’s childish behavior.

“Where’d you guys go?” Jean continues. He can’t get that damned flower out of his head.

He’s acting like a teenager, he knows he is. He roughly kills the heat to the stove and dumps the stir fry into a bowl, grinding pepper over it a little harshly.

“That little Italian place down the street. It’s Armin’s favorite,” Marco says distractedly, watching the way Jean’s knuckles are turning white on the grinder. “Everything okay?”

“‘M fine,” Jean mumbles, setting the pepper down and grabbing his dinner.

Marco sits across from Jean at their tiny dining table, watching him as he twirls the daffodil absently between his fingers. They eat in relative silence; the way Marco is watching him and holding that stupid flower is starting to grate on Jean’s nerves, and he knows it shouldn’t. They’re nothing. Friends with bennies. Fuck buddies. He forces himself to repeat that every time he shoves a forkful of carrots into his mouth.

When Jean finishes and moves to rinse his bowl, Marco stands and follows him. He pulls a tall glass from the cupboard and fills it with water, and Jean eyes him and snorts when he places the daffodil gingerly into it.

“Shut up,” Marco murmurs, that stupid, fond smile on his face again.

“I didn’t say anything,” Jean sasses, smirking despite himself, and Marco rolls his eyes.

“C’mon.”

He grabs Jean’s wrist, grip a little tight, and when they have sex that night, they both try to ignore the way Marco drags his nails a little more sharply down Jean’s back than usual and the way Jean’s hands grip the brunette’s waist strong enough to bruise.

 

* * *

 

It’s weeks later when Jean’s jealousy finally gets the best of him.

The sex has gotten rougher, more aggressive, and whenever he notices Marco walking with a limp, he tries to ignore it. He pretends he doesn’t see the bruises on his own hips when he strips in the morning for his showers, and he acts like the water sliding down his back doesn’t burn the scratches there.

He tries hard. He tries harder at keeping his cool than he does at much else these days, but when Marco comes home from work, smelling like old books and ink, already shucking off his work clothes on the way to his bedroom, Jean can’t help the derisive sound he lets out.

Marco ignores him and continues to his bedroom, reappearing minutes later smelling of expensive cologne and wearing one of his nicer ties.

“Headed out?” Jean asks, busying himself with organising one of the many stacks of papers Marco keeps lying around the apartment.

“Yeah,” Marco says, voice breathless and bright as he rushes about, grabbing his wallet and keys and shoving them into his pockets. “I’m taking Armin out.”  Jean glances up and notices the way Marco is biting his lips on a shy smile.

He scoffs, and this time, Marco doesn’t ignore it.

“What?” he says, stopping short in the middle of re-tying his tie, and turning to face Jean with an eyebrow lifted. Jean drags his own gaze up from straightening the papers for the fourth time to stare at Marco. “Are you jealous?”

Jean’s gut twists, and he scoffs again. “No,” he says, and that petulant tone comes creeping into his voice. “Just feelin’ a blowjob right now.”

Marco’s own expression wrenches into something ugly and Jean can’t even bring himself to feel bad about the comment. “Fuck you,” Marco spits, yanking the knot in his tie a little too tightly. He looks like he wants to say something else, but instead he just turns and storms out the door. Jean’s nerves ripple. Marco never curses.

The blonde hears him mutter _Jesus Christ_ under his breath just before the door slams shut.

It doesn’t take long for the anger in Jean’s gut to give way to guilt and he sinks down into the couch, the stack of papers forgotten. He rakes a hand through his hair and thinks about the past few weeks; thinks about how Marco has hardly been home and all the time he’s been spending with Armin, the gross way Jean’s been reacting to it.

He sighs and forgets to make dinner that night and digs out several movies to keep himself company as he waits for Marco to come home.

By the time 3:00 a.m. rolls around and his best friend hasn’t returned, the anger flares back up. Jean texts Marco several times ( _are you ok?, are you coming home tonight?, marco im worried why arent you answering my texts_ ) and never gets a response back.

When the brunette comes trotting in four hours later, with Jean half asleep on the couch, phone in hand and beeping with a dying battery, he stops short and just watches as Jean stirs, rousing himself fully.

“What are you still doing up?” Marco asks, but the question doesn’t sound so much concerned as it does irritated.

“You didn’t answer any of my texts.”

Marco’s eyebrows furrow before he lifts one. “You aren’t my mother.”

Jean’s heart starts pounding and he stands, trying to keep his voice even.

“No, but I _am_ your best friend. Where the hell were you all night?”

“Where do you think I was, Jean?” Marco shoots back, voice strangely calm. Jean’s eyes drift to Marco’s rumpled shirt collar and he sees the single love bite vibrant against his dark skin.

He loses it.

“That’s going slow for you? Ha. I thought you weren’t easy,” he drawls, smirking derisively at Marco. The words keep coming before he can stop them. He starts pacing around, going towards the kitchen to busy himself with the dishes. Marco follows, mouth parted in shock. “What, are you guys even dating officially, or are you just too scared of commitment to bother with that?”

“What the hell is your _problem_ , Jean? You’ve been like this ever since I started seeing Armin. If you’re jealous, just say something to me instead of dancing around it.”

Jean scoffs, putting his hands on the counter and gripping. He lets his head hang between his shoulders and counts to twenty once, and then a second time.

“I’m not jealous,” he lies finally. He lifts his head back to look Marco in the face, and his breath hitches at how _angry_ Marco looks. “I am not jealous.”

“Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not fucking _lying_ to you, Marco, Jesus _Christ_ ,” Jean says, and he roughly cards his hand through his hair. He’s on edge and he’s reacting in the worst possible way, he knows it, but he can’t stop. He wants Marco to feel the way he does. “If you wanna go off and fuck random guys, it’s none of my goddamn business.”

Jean keeps his eyes on the dirty dishes, focusing on a smear of salsa on a plate from the burritos they had the other night so he doesn’t have to see the hurt cross Marco’s freckled face. He counts the silverware sitting in the sink while Marco sighs and shakes his head, running a hand through his hair and rubbing absently at the hickey on his neck.

Jean continues to stare pointedly forward while his best friend turns and walks out the door without a single word to him.

 

* * *

 

Weeks pass.

Marco stays with Armin most of the time and rarely texts Jean anymore.

The apartment is in various forms of disarray: the dishes are clean but remain on the drying rack; the afghan Marco’s grandmother made for him in high school is rumpled over one of the couch’s armrests rather than smoothed neatly over the back of it like it usually is; Jean hasn’t made his bed since their fight.

As he’s sitting at their shared dining table filling out paperwork one night weeks after Marco’s last text to him, Jean’s phone buzzes. He tries to ignore the jolt his stomach gives at the hope that it might be his roommate, deciding to finish the paper he’s currently working on before pulling his phone out of his pocket.

It’s Connie, asking Jean if he wants to head to the bar with him and Sasha. He sighs and puts his forehead in his hand, rubbing absently.

He texts back a quick _yea, let me get gas first_ and grabs his jacket.

* * *

 

As Jean is walking out of the convenience store, every possible thought of getting hammered with Connie and Sasha flies out the window. He’s in the middle of texting Connie _be there in 5_ when he glances up to keep from slamming into whoever is coming towards him and freezes entirely.

Marco is standing there on the sidewalk, looking right back at Jean, a similar expression on his face to the one Jean knows he must be wearing.

Finally, after a long, heavy minute of awkward staring, Jean finally speaks up.

“You look really fucking good,” Jean says, and Marco’s lips threaten to twitch into a smile. Jean’s face heats up immediately and he scrambles to correct himself. “God, sorry, I-I mean. You look good. How have you been?” He’s trying to keep the tremble out of his voice, but he hasn’t seen Marco for the better part of the last four weeks and he _does_ look good. He misses him so much.

Marco smiles fondly; it looks almost sad. “I’ve been good. How are you?”

“Yeah.” Jean’s distracted with the way Marco’s mouth is moving.

Marco doesn’t comment on Jean’s answer, doesn’t say anything when the blonde takes a step closer, just watches him carefully with a guarded look in his eyes.

“Are you busy?” Jean breathes, and Marco’s head tilts down as he closes his eyes.

“Jean.”

“Marco.”

When Marco opens his eyes again, they seem darker, and Jean watches him for a breath before leaning in and finally pressing his mouth to the brunette’s.

Marco inhales sharply through his nose and his hands move up, cupping Jean’s neck as Jean’s own hands slide down to Marco’s hips. They kiss that way for a long minute; it’s intense, nothing more than lips on lips, and when Jean pulls back to look at Marco, to find any doubt in his eyes, he doesn’t even get a chance to speak before Marco is diving back in, twisting them to press Jean against the faded brick of the convenience store.

Jean can feel the heat all the way down to his fingertips and it hurts where his lips are pressed to Marco’s. He keeps going though, sliding his hot palms under Marco’s shirt and over his hips, huffing into his mouth.

When Jean pulls back this time, it’s to slide his lips wetly over Marco’s neck, and Marco makes a small noise in the back of his throat.

“Jean, ah--  _Jean_ , we’re in front of a Shell, we can’t do this here,” he says, forcing his voice to stay even.

“There’s a Motel 8 across the street,” Jean grunts, and when Marco breathes okay, Jean grabs his wrist and drags him there, his plans with Connie and Sasha forgotten.

The desk clerk seems to know what they’re up to the moment they come in wide-eyed and disheveled and eyes them skeptically, but they manage to get a key card anyway, and the door to their dingy room isn’t even fully closed before Jean is pressing Marco into it.

“Missed you,” he breathes, mouth latching onto Marco’s neck as he slides his hands up the brunette’s back underneath his shirt, his nails dragging lightly.

“Missed you too,” Marco huffs, his back arching as he presses himself against Jean. “Bed, c’mon.” He turns his head and noses at Jean’s hair, grabbing his hand to pull him towards the mattress. It squeaks when Marco falls back against it and he makes to pull Jean over him, but the blonde is stuck staring with one knee pressed into the mattress between Marco’s spread legs.

“What?” Marco asks, impatient. He sits up and puts his hands on Jean’s waist when he doesn’t move. “What?” he repeats a little more softly.

Jean slides a hand through his own hair and shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says and leans over Marco, pressing him back into the lumpy bed to kiss him. He’s quick in the way he moves over Marco, swiping his tongue across the brunette’s lower lip before nipping it gently, tugging at it as he moves back to suck at his neck again. He starts undoing Marco’s nice dress shirt, and that’s when the guilt starts to throb in his gut.

“Were you on your way to a date with Armin?”

Jean looks downtrodden, and he sits back, straddling Marco’s thighs as he looks away.

Marco frowns and sits up again, tugging at Jean’s hips a little and wrapping his arms around them.

“No,” Marco murmurs, pressing his nose to Jean’s collarbone. “Just got back. Me and Armin, we’re still-- we’re still just friends. It isn’t serious yet.”

Jean blinks and cups Marco’s face, pulling back to look at him more properly.

“Are you sure?”

“You lied to me when you said you weren’t jealous,” Marco says, deflecting the question. Jean’s face flushes deeper and he sighs, hands dropping from Marco’s cheeks to slowly continue unbuttoning his shirt. Give his hands something to do.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t wanna make you feel obligated,” Jean mumbles, pushing insistently at the shirt so Marco will unwrap his arms from Jean’s waist. They go right back to where they were once the fabric is thrown across the room.

“I wouldn’t have felt obligated,” Marco whispers, pushing his hands up underneath Jean’s tshirt until the fabric bunches under his arms and Jean lifts them, letting Marco strip the garment away. He leans forward and presses the flat of his tongue to one of Jean’s nipples, hands tight on the blonde’s pale hips, before kissing it. “Wanted to be with you.”

Jean jolts a little at that, feels Marco’s legs shift underneath him as he toes his shoes off and closes his lips around his nipple.

“Why didn’t you say anything,” Jean gasps as Marco’s teeth scrape gently across his sensitive skin.

“Didn’t think you were interested.”

“Idiot,” Jean murmurs, and pulls Marco’s head up so he can kiss him again.

Their chests press together as Jean’s tongue slides against Marco’s, warm and needy and sure. Jean grinds down into Marco’s lap, acutely aware of Marco’s clothed erection against his own, and takes Marco’s moan in on a gasp.

Marco’s hands slide down to Jean’s ass and he pulls him forward, rolling his hips up as their kiss turns from less of a kiss and more into panting against each other’s open mouths. His hands fumble from Jean’s rear to his fly, popping the button open and roughly yanking the zipper down before shoving his hand inside and gripping Jean through his underwear.

Jean gasps sharply, his hands sliding up to grip Marco’s shoulder tightly as he lets his head fall back as his eyes flutter closed.

“Marco, _fuck_ ,” Jean gasps, fingers tightening against the brunette’s shoulders until his fingernails dig in, and Marco surges forward, pressing his mouth to the hollow of Jean’s throat as he pulls the blonde’s cock through the hole in his boxers. He slides his thumb up the underside of it, rubs it through the wet slit at the tip and bites into Jean’s skin as he jerks against him.

“Want you,” Jean whines, thrusting shallowly into Marco’s hand. “Please.”

“Already yours,” Marco grunts before twisting and manhandling Jean so that he’s flat on his back with Marco above him. He wastes no time in leaning back to yank Jean’s shoes off and then jerk his pants and boxers down his legs, sliding back up his body and pressing kisses along the way.

Marco watches Jean intently as he slides two fingers into his own mouth and slicks them before reaching down and pressing behind his best friend’s balls, sliding them down against his perineum before prodding gently at his entrance. Jean twitches and whimpers underneath him, body practically vibrating against Marco’s.

“Missed this,” Marco sighs as he slides his middle finger into Jean up to the knuckle. Jean replies with a twitch of his hips, tossing his head to the side.

“Missed _you_ ,” Jean murmurs, and Marco muffles his groan against the side of Jean’s neck, thrusting his finger shallowly. He pulls back and slowly fits two in together, pressing his tongue against Jean’s feverish skin to keep from moaning at the way he feels, tight and hot around his fingers.

Jean sobs out a moan and Marco crooks his fingers, pushing in and pulling back slowly, looking for Jean’s prostate.

When Jean twitches violently and gives a stuttered _oh_ , Marco smiles and kisses across the blonde’s neck and up over his chin until he reaches his mouth to slot his own against it. He pushes his fingers back in, rubbing firm over that little spot until Jean is melting against him, bringing his legs up and hooking his ankles against Marco’s lower back.

Their kiss is sloppy and Jean keeps whimpering into it before he finally turns his head from Marco, face flushed and hair sticking to his forehead.

Marco presses a third digit into the blonde, thorough in his preparation despite his own impatience, and fucks him open until Jean is shoving at his shoulder.

“Get on with it, _please_ Marco,” Jean gasps, writhing, and Marco obliges him, sliding his fingers out and wiping them on the thin, papery sheet.

He reaches back for his wallet and pulls out a strip of foil lube packets, and Jean tenses a bit.

“Are those for Armin?” he asks, and Marco glances up, cheeks burning. Jean looks so raw and open.

“No,” he whispers, and slides back up to kiss Jean firmly on the mouth. “These are only for you. You’re condoms, I’m lube, remember?” he says, referring to their convenient wallet arrangement, and Jean smiles a little before frowning.

“I’m out.”

“You okay with that?”

Jean watches as Marco tears a packet open with his teeth, his cock twitching at the image, and Jean nods. “Am if you are.”

“Good. Turn over.”

Jean obeys and turns over onto his stomach, pushing himself up on his hands and knees as he listens to Marco squeeze the lube into his palm, and then the wet, slick sounds as he coats himself.

Marco prods gently at Jean’s hole and Jean exhales, letting his head drop between his shoulders.

“Okay?”

Jean smiles. Caring as ever.

“S’okay.”

Marco slides in slowly, inch by inch, and it’s like being home again. Jean fists the fabric of the sheets in his hands, arching his back to accommodate Marco better, and once Marco’s hips are flush to Jean’s ass they stay there, breathing in damp air and simply feeling each other.

When Marco pulls back, Jean feels the drag of every inch and goes breathless.

“Is this okay?”

“ _God_ , Marco, yeah,” Jean murmurs back, mouth falling open when the brunette pushes back in. He sets a steady, deep rhythm, one arm moving to wrap around Jean’s middle as he leans over his back. He huffs hot and wet against the nape of Jean’s neck before pressing his face there, his hips moving of their own accord.

Jean can’t think of anything but the hot, perfect slide of Marco’s cock inside of him, and he’s glad for the strong arm around his waist because he feels already like his legs are about to turn to jelly and give out underneath him.

“ _Fuck_ , Marco, more--” Jean chokes out, and Marco snaps his hips, just enough to make Jean cry out. The mattress underneath them squeaks and the headboard bumps gently against the wall, but Marco doesn’t stop. He fucks into Jean slow and hard, every snap of his hips measured, and one of Jean’s hands shoots out to brace himself against the ancient headboard as it slams into the wall.

“The people in the other room are gonna f-fucking hear us,” Jean gasps, and bites his lip on a high whine when Marco’s arm tightens around him.

“Good,” he growls against Jean’s sweat-slick skin, pressing his teeth against his flesh, and Jean shivers.

Jean shifts his hips, pushes them up a little bit and starts meeting Marco partway on each thrust until the blunt head of the brunette’s cock presses against him just right, and then Jean cries out and his legs actually do give, his thighs trembling.

“Marco, oh _fuck_ \--” Jean gasps, and Marco keeps going like that, driving into Jean’s prostate on nearly every thrust and there is no way Jean’s going to last like this.

“You’re mine,” he feels more than hears Marco growl against him, and Jean’s eyes shut tight, almost coming right there. " _Shit,_ ah-- no one else."

“‘S’all I ever w-wanted, fuck, _please_ \--”

Marco comes then, biting into the slope of Jean’s shoulder, and Jean gasps at the unfamiliar sensation of Marco filling him.

When Marco finishes, he pulls out of Jean, and the blond nearly complains before Marco is flipping him over and sliding his mouth down over Jean’s cock, all the way to the base, and slipping three fingers back into his wet, stretched hole. He hollows his cheeks and bobs his head quick and easy.

It only takes a few strong pulls of Marco’s tight, wet mouth before Jean is coming hard, his head tossing back against the thin pillows with a shout. Marco sucks him down, nose pressed to coarse curls, and swallows around him until Jean is twitching and trying to catch his breath.

He crawls back up and wraps himself around Jean’s warm, sweaty body like a blanket, nuzzling his hair affectionately.

It’s as if Jean has fallen asleep when suddenly the blond murmurs, “I wanna be with you.” He sounds… sad.

Marco blinks tiredly, leaning forward and kissing Jean’s forehead after a moment before he maneuvers them underneath the cheap blanket, his chest pressed to Jean’s back with an arm over the curve of his waist. Jean traces mindless patterns into Marco’s arm.

“We just had sex in a dirty Motel 8,” Marco whispers, tangling his and Jean’s legs a little more. “I think that’s as together as you can get.”

Jean smiles a bit, too tired and fucked out to come up with a witty response, and falls asleep with Marco’s lips pressed to the back of his neck.

 


End file.
